


you make this all go away

by Lise



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clint Has Issues, Clint's really not doing great, Dream Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm sorry I like doing dubious things with Clint's brain, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Oral Sex, Post-Avengers (2012), Warning: Loki, and they're all Loki, except without the recovery part, when you kind of want your former mind controlling boss to bang you but also don't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get what you want, not what you need, and sometimes it's neither. Or maybe both. Loki may not be in Clint's head anymore, but sometimes it's hard to tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make this all go away

**Author's Note:**

> I can never stay away from this pairing for long, and while I may be temporarily paused on "we're not friends" well, I had this one part way finished, and finally got around to actually making it happen. God, it's like I like fucking with Clint or something. I wonder what that's about. (It's not my fault he's so fun to fuck with.)
> 
> This is a messy fic and contains seriously dubious/lack of consent within dreams.
> 
> With my love and appreciation for [my beta](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com). She's pretty great, and never gives me weird looks about my semi-dubious kinks in fiction.

There was a memory, vivid, almost brutal, that Clint kept to himself.

Clint was going to inform Him ( _Loki,_ he told himself, _you can say it_ ) that Selvig was moving forward with the work, that things were coming together, and in the meantime to offer to do anything else that needed doing. Loki had retreated a little ways, vanishing off by himself (in a way that made something in Clint faintly nervous, jumpy, not knowing where he was) but it didn’t take Clint long to find him, secreted away in a tunnel a little ways off. “Sir,” he started to say, stepping into the little alcove, and stopped. 

He couldn’t have said, afterwards, just what it was. He had stripped off the outer layer of leather and metal, was reclined with his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He was still too thin, dark circles around his eyes that Clint had not failed to notice still present, but for a moment he looked as though he belonged somewhere else entirely, somewhere beautiful and tranquil, like a wood in some kind of fairytale or-

He wavered, suddenly uncertain, feeling as though he’d intruded on some private moment, perhaps, disrespectful. Like seeing him naked or something. It wasn’t _right._ He ought to go. Make sure that no one else-

Clint didn’t leave. He took a step forward, almost unwillingly, pulse picking up with a peculiar mingling of embarrassment and curiosity, heart thudding against his ribcage, eyes following the long line of Loki’s neck down to the hollow at his throat, slender fingers splayed over his chest. Suddenly he had an uncomfortable awareness of his own body, tried to pull his gaze away and found he couldn’t quite-

It wasn’t desire. (Or so he told himself later, fervently.) More a desperate, aching sort of yearning. A groping sort of urgency to give his master anything he needed and to be _closer,_ to lose all distinction and boundary and distance. 

It took Clint a moment to realize that Loki’s eyes were open, and he was watching him. 

He froze, then flinched. “Sir,” he said hastily, “I meant to-”

“Hush.” Loki’s voice cut through his. “Staring, were you? I ought to have your eyes for that.” Clint tensed, but if the words were displeased the tone didn’t sound it. “You are lucky I still have need of you. And am in a lenient mood.”

Clint dropped his eyes at once, finally managing to force them away, feeling his heart sink at the idea that he’d disappointed his master. There was a rustle of cloth and then a hand under his chin, urging his eyes up to meet that sharp green gaze, slightly thoughtful. Clint swallowed. 

Slender eyebrows arched. “Did you like what you saw?” He murmured, and Clint felt himself flush. 

“I didn’t-”

“Come now. Don’t be coy.” Loki’s voice was silky, light and faintly amused. “I shan’t punish you.” Clint swallowed again. 

_I don’t know. Yes._ Loki’s fingers were cool on his skin, his touch light. (Clint knew the power in those hands to destroy, but here, now…) That peculiar feeling came back again, curled in his stomach, want or need or something, and Clint squirmed. “—yes,” he said, half because it was true, half because it seemed the right thing to say.

His master’s gaze sharpened, narrowed, as Clint stared at him, empty of words. Then his mouth curved, very slightly, toward a smile, and his head bent down slightly. “Is that so? You find me desirable, hawkling?”

A minute shudder ran through his body. He licked his lips, his heart thudding what felt like audibly. He felt confused, disoriented, off balance. He wanted to drop to his knees and be soothed, wanted to please Loki and have those cool hands touch him less kindly- “I wouldn’t,” he forced out, but Loki interrupted him with a soft laugh. 

“Tell me what it is you want, my _faithful_ archer.”

Clint’s breathing felt short and uneven, like he couldn’t quite get enough air. He still couldn’t move his gaze from Loki’s. “Please,” he said, finally, and wasn’t certain what he asked for. Strong fingers slid into his hair and he closed his eyes, wavering. He caught something like a whimper in his throat. He felt Loki’s breath ghost over his lips.

“You would let me,” he murmured. “No…you _want_ me to…”

The hand on his chin released him, and that in his hair slipped free as Loki stepped back. Clint’s eyes jerked open. His master’s expression was smooth, blank of feeling. “I don’t think so,” Loki said, after a moment’s silence. “Tempting as the notion may be…I think not.”

Clint felt unsteady, lightheaded. Loki was shrugging himself back into his clothes. “—things are moving forward,” he managed, finally. “Selvig…” He didn’t know what he was feeling. Disappointed? It didn’t seem like he’d displeased, but nonetheless he felt suddenly at a loss, as though he’d failed some sort of test.

“I know.” Loki rolled his shoulders back, and smiled, suddenly, sharp and a little vicious. “It’s nearly time, hawkling. You are ready?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, trying to refocus. He took a breath through his nose and corrected, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Loki said, and his smile softened, changed. “I never fail to reward loyalty,” he added, voice nearly a purr, and Clint’s heart stuttered. 

_What does that-_

“Come along, then,” Loki said, sweeping out past Clint. “Shouldn’t want to be late, I daresay.”

* * *

That was it. It never went further than that. If he’d asked, Clint knew, in that moment, he’d have given him anything, and been happy. _Grateful._

But Loki didn’t ask.

He didn’t tell Natasha, after. Didn’t tell anyone, not sure what he would say – or maybe not wanting to know what they would. _It was the staff,_ they’d tell him. _It wasn’t you,_ and they’d watch him with pity, poor Barton. Would’ve knelt for his rapist.

 _It’s not that simple. It’s not gone._ He’s _not gone._

Sometimes Clint was sure he’d never be.

* * *

There were the dreams, searing and awful, that followed him. 

It started there, Loki standing before him with fingers in Clint’s hair and a hand cupping his chin, a small smile turning the corners of his mouth, Clint’s heart thudding hard against his ribs. His hands were cool, head cocked just slightly to the side. 

“What do you want?” he murmured, soft. 

“You know,” he forced out, over a dry tongue that seemed to fill his mouth. “You already…”

“I want to hear it from you.” Despite its softness, Loki’s voice cut through his like a knife. Clint held back a shiver and wavered, felt too aware of every point of contact, as if those cool fingers might sear and burn. “I want to know the words you would choose, the sound of your voice…”

Clint’s hands reached out as though of their own accord, hesitating with them hovering over Loki’s narrow waist. His smile was slow and lazy and god, he just- Clint licked his lips. “Anything,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t care, I don’t-”

Loki leaned down, mouthed at Clint’s jaw. His voice broke off. Loki’s tongue probed against skin, fluttered, slipped away. The rush of heat through his body was intense, overpowering, like he’d been craving this for months. A faint “unnh,” noise slipped out of his mouth, and he felt his face heat as Loki fell still, chuckled. 

“Ah,” he murmured, almost a purr, breath moist on skin. “You like that?”

“Yes,” Clint managed, not even thinking not to say. His hands groped helplessly where they’d fallen to Loki’s waist, fingers flexing into firm, muscled flesh. He swallowed several times. 

“Mm,” Loki said, softly, and then his lips fastened over skin and he sucked with almost vicious intent. Clint couldn’t hold back a noise, the way his body tensed and his toes tried to curl, desire surging at the pleasure-pain, welling up like blood from broken vessels. It felt almost – sacriligeous, feeling like this, doing this, but Loki wasn’t hesitating, didn’t seem to even consider doing so. 

And there was a part of him, under the anxiety and sense that he was crossing a line, that felt sure. That felt certain this was _right._

“Is this what you want?” Loki murmured into his neck. 

“I want what you do,” Clint said, simple and sure. He felt Loki smile. 

“A good answer, but not entirely accurate.” His head lifted, and his fingers turned Clint’s chin gently upward. “Tell me. What do you want?” 

Clint swallowed. His throat was dry, and he was acutely aware of where Loki’s fingers were touching his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut. “You,” he managed to say, terrified that he was overstepping his bounds, was going too far. “I want-”

Loki’s mouth was on his. Kissing him, fierce, demanding, his tongue flicking out against the seam of Clint’s lips and he parted them at once, gladly, felt the long, lean line of Loki’s body press up against his and he was going to drown in that hungry mouth and his awareness of the way the bulge in Loki’s pants nudged against him-

He felt his back hit the wall. Loki’s teeth caught his lip and bit down lightly, and Clint felt a surge of heat flood straight to his groin, nerves lighting up like a Christmas tree. The strength of sensation was almost violent, overwhelming. His hands found Loki’s shoulders and gripped like he could hold onto reality that way, like that would keep him from burning up with the force of Loki so intimately close. 

A moment later Loki drew back, though, and he whined at the loss without thinking. “Hawkling,” Loki purred, though, and Clint felt weak in the knees and struggled not to just collapse and wrap his arms around Loki’s legs, kneeling in pure worship. As if Loki heard the direction of his thoughts, his hands gave Clint’s shoulders a nudge, pushing him down as he stepped back.

Clint slid to his knees and watched Loki unlace his breeches and push them over his hips and down, stepping forward out of them. Gloriously naked, Clint thought again that he was beautiful, almost unreal, or _too_ real, a god made flesh not meant to be touched-

Loki stepped forward and slid his fingers into Clint’s hair again. Clint looked up at him, let his eyes wander down slowly, linger on the curve of his cock, flushed and erect. Flesh. Blood. Desire. 

He leaned in and took the very head in his mouth, folding his lips around it and swiping his tongue over skin. He could taste the salty, faintly flavored pre-cum, but better, he could feel the way His body vibrated, the low hum of approval. 

_Yes. This was right._

He didn’t really know what he was doing, could only guess, let reactions guide him. Slide his mouth as far down as it would go until he had to stop or choke, and curl his palm around the rest. Stroke with his tongue along the underside, move up the shaft until he could press at the cluster of nerves under the head with the tip of his tongue and feel the way Loki’s fingers dug into his scalp, the way he tensed and shuddered with pleasure. _This was right. This was good._

It lasted until Loki’s fingers clenched as he came down Clint’s throat with a hollow gasp, hips pumping in shallow thrusts. Then Loki drew him to his feet and bit down on Clint’s gladly offered throat until he could feel a dark bruise blooming on the skin. 

“You’re mine,” Loki said, eyes dark and lips curved in a smile as he cradled Clint’s face between his hands, and Clint’s heart fluttered with joy to hear that and know it was always going to be true.

Inevitably, he woke up wanting.

* * *

Thor said Loki was dead. Clint’s first thought was to respond _no, he isn’t. I would know,_ and then he felt sick. That connection was severed. It was gone and now it wasn’t coming back, because Loki was dead, and he was supposed to be _relieved._

He wasn’t. Just felt strange and uncertain and unbalanced. _You’re mine,_ he heard in his ear, like a whisper, as he was beating off in the shower, and had to catch himself against the wall as he came hard. Loki might be dead but he wasn’t gone, just as Clint had been certain, and something was so very, _very_ wrong with him.

* * *

Another dream: Loki pushed him up against the wall and whispered, “Let’s go elsewhere.”

The world spun inside out but he hung onto Loki and then they were both sprawled on a vast bed and Clint’s knees were braced against Loki’s shoulders, two fingers in his ass scissoring and stretching and he bit down on his lip not to cry out. His other hand smoothed circles on his flank. “You don’t need to stay silent,” he murmured. “It’s fine…”

“Nnnh,” he couldn’t hold back as another finger teased against his ass. “It’s not – I’m not complaining, it just-”

Loki’s fingers curled inside him, suddenly, and then pressed. Clint shouted, his whole body responding to the stimulation, his cock giving a jerk. He hardly felt the third finger slide in and keep working him open, more lube slicking the way, each little twist of his fingers pressing against Clint’s prostate until he was almost squirming, his entire body one hard knot of exhausted desire.

Loki’s fingers drew out of him and he moved Clint’s legs down. His hands braced on Clint’s hips. He could feel the nudge of Loki’s cock against his ass and looked up, met His eyes in the moment before He thrust forward. 

He grunted. Even if Tasha sometimes – this was different, the feeling of fullness, of flesh inside him and Loki’s body pressed against his. The fact that it was _Loki_. Loki rolled his hips and Clint could feel every inch shifting inside him. So _full_ and it was Him, them, close together joined as near as he could be without dissolving entirely-

His body shook. 

He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t hold himself together, it was too much, too _much._

A cool hand curled around his cock. Rubbed firm circles just under the head. The sensation was an anchor, the weight of his body, the ache of his desire grounding him. Loki was still entirely inside him but he started to move, slowly, not harsh or rushed. The friction still made him gasp, but it wasn’t unpleasant, wasn’t pain. Was Loki, his _god,_ pressed against and inside of him.

His hands clenched in the comforter, his cock twitching in Loki’s hand. 

“Loki,” he gasped, and Loki hummed, his eyes glazed with pleasure. That expression made Clint feel dizzy and gleeful, that he could give him that kind of feeling, that he could give him _this._

“You say my name like a prayer,” he said, and Clint’s chest heaved. He’d never been very religious, but he wondered dizzily if this was what people who were felt, complete and whole and _blessed._

“ _Loki,_ ” he said again, and Loki shuddered above him and shifted his angle, the next thrust pushing into his prostate so Clint’s entire body knotted and he couldn’t hold back a yell. He was going to fly apart, but for Loki’s hand stroking up and down his cock, keeping him together and pulling him to shreds at the same time, but he wasn’t afraid. 

For once, everything made perfect, glorious sense.

“God!” he yelped, and Loki laughed, low and dark, smile wild. 

“Yes,” he said, low and rich. “Yours.”

* * *

“Do you ever dream about it?” Selvig asked, when he and Clint crossed paths. He didn’t need to say what. Neither of them did. 

“No,” Clint said flatly, and kept walking.


End file.
